


Morning Rituals

by Mythdefied



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/646317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythdefied/pseuds/Mythdefied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some mornings weren't as bad as others. Especially when he woke up with Spike's mouth wrapped around his cock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Rituals

Mornings weren't Xander's favorite time. Too often he'd been up late patrolling or researching, staggering to bed at some late/early hour where sleep generally wasn't the first thing that happened, giving him far too little rest to face a work day that usually started at five am. He managed though, and some mornings weren't as bad as others. Especially when he woke up with Spike's mouth wrapped around his cock.

Wet and cool and sucking _hard_ and Xander was suddenly, abruptly awake. Or at least his eyes were open and he had enough brain function to take in the sight of that familiar bleached head bobbing up and down over his waist. Then his eyes crossed and Xander managed to make some sort of garbled sound that should've come out as, "Spike! God, yes!" but sounded more like, "Spleggle demux glurb!" and then he couldn't make any sound at all.

Hips snapping up, shoving his cock as far down Spike's throat as he could get, Xander's breath caught tight in his chest as he shuddered and came.

He didn't know he'd had his hands on Spike's head, fingers gripping his hair until some time later -- whenever that was because Xander's sense of time always packed for an extended vacation right after orgasm -- when he felt Spike tugging at his hands. Xander's fingers were sore when he slowly unclenched them. At some point he'd closed his eyes because he had to open them now to see the nearly white strands of hair caught in between his fingers, shining dully in the light of the bedside lamp.

"Oops," he managed the word, but it came out slurred.

Spike chuckled, and given that Xander was still buried inside that throat, the vibration made him gasp in something that was as close to pain as pleasure.

Spike pulled off of him, a wet, slurping sound as he let Xander's softening cock slip from his mouth. Sitting up on his knees, naked, hard and smirking now, he paused to lick his lips before speaking.

"My turn, pet," was all the warning Xander got before strong hands were on him, flipping him over onto his stomach.

Even the soft covers were too much sensation for his cock and Xander was quick to struggle up to his knees, muscles still shaking, weak so soon after coming. Then Spike's hands were on him again, grasping his hips, steadying him, and--

Xander gasped, forehead falling against his pillow as he thanked multiple deities that the chip allowed the nice, _fun_ sorts of pain. Spike pushed in, one long, hard shove, no fingers or tongue first, just a solid thrust and despite still being slicked up from hours before, it hurt. But, fuck, did it ever hurt _good_.

Xander's hands clenched in the bed sheets, breath coming fast through his open mouth as Spike pulled out, nearly all the way, then shoved back in with a soft grunt. Again, and Xander groaned at the painful, delicious burn of it, stretched again and again as Spike thrust into him, over and over, a steady, fast rhythm that had quickly Xander gasping for breath, the bed creaking beneath them with the jarring movements.

Spike's fingers were digging into his skin, harder it seemed with every deep thrust, hard enough to leave bruises. Matches to the pattern of older bruises Xander carried as a constant reminder of just how damn good it was to have Spike clutching at him, riding him in that steady, pounding rhythm that he could feel in the back of his throat. Teeth clenching against strained, breathless gasps, fingers tearing at the sheets as he tried and failed to find leverage enough to thrust back. Xander's legs still weren't up to supporting him and it was Spike who held him up, pulled him back into each raw thrust, the smack of flesh against flesh loud in the room, louder than the pants and groans that Xander thought were mostly his, but not all.

"Look so bloody good...around my cock...." Spike's voice was strained, the words catching on a moan and he pushed in harder, grinding against Xander's ass, making Xander cry out as bright sparks of toogoodohgodmore pleasure raced through him.

He unclenched the fingers of one hand from the sheets and braced his hand up against the headboard. Just in time to stop himself from smacking into it head first as Spike slammed into him, so hard, again and again and so far in him, balls slapping against his thighs, drawing up.

"Fuck! Xander!" Sharp, harsh exclamations, punctuated by Spike shoving into him hard enough to border on real pain and even that felt good. One thrust, then another and Xander heard Spike groan behind him, low enough to be a growl, coming deep inside him.

Spike was just as thoughtful as ever afterwards. He collapsed on top of Xander, sending him sprawling face first, flat onto the bed, the air knocked from his lungs in a rush of breath. Xander would've been annoyed if it would've done him any good. Would've complained and tried to shove Spike off him, but Spike would just roll his eyes, laugh, then slide a hand under him and work Xander's cock until Xander forgot why he was complaining and decided that breathing was overrated anyway. And why was this a bad thing, again?

Xander turned his head to the side and had drawn a breath -- nice, pretty air -- to start telling Spike how heavy he was and dead weight was more than a pun here, when the alarm went off. He exhaled the breath on a long groan.

Spike growled, a faint, muffled rumbling against the middle of Xander's back where Spike's face was currently pressed. The heavy weight shifted on top of him, not much, not more than it apparently took for Spike to reach out and slam his hand down on top of the alarm clock. The loud, too high pitched beeping cut off abruptly with a crack that didn't bode well for the life of the clock. Xander winced and mentally resigned himself to buying yet another alarm clock. The third one that month.

"Impulse control, Spike, look it up," he said, more of a mutter than anything else as he tried to get his elbows under him.

"Where d'you think you're going?" Spike asked, his voice soft, lips even softer against Xander's back.

"Work. You know, that thing that makes me money, lets me buy all those fun toys we used last night?"

Xander tried to shove himself up, but Spike rode the motion and shoved his hips forward at the same time. Cock still inside, still hard and finding _just_ the right place. Xander fell back to the bed with a muted whimper.

A few more slow, deep thrusts, Spike's tongue licking the back of his neck and Xander had forgotten why he wanted to get up. Why would he want to get away from that perfect cock that Spike was pushing into him, so. Fucking. Deep.

Then Spike was sitting up, pulling him up by the hips -- changing the angle and oh _hell_ yeah -- and leaning to the side, one hand back on Xander's hip. Xander thought Spike was going for one of those "toys" they'd played with before, maybe the paddle, but instead there was a strange noise, a beeping and then Spike was pressing something against his ear.

"Talk to the nice foreman, Xander," he said in a too steady tone, damn him.

Xander might've -- well, he didn't know what he might've done because Spike rocked into him and thinking became secondary to the thickening of his cock in time with those steady thrusts.

"Hello? Hey!"

The words gradually made it through the lust clouding Xander's thoughts. That was a phone next to his ear. Right. Phone. Talk. Foreman. Oh! Call into work! Now it made sense.

"Hey, Marcus...it's...it's Xander." He couldn't manage more than a breathless, grating tone. "I'm gonna be late for -- oh god -- work today." He had to stop for a second, breathing hard through his mouth as Spike's hand curled around his cock. "Think I've got the, uh, the flu. Fuck."

"The flu." Marcus' tone sounded...amused? But Xander didn't have the brain cells left to question it.

"Uh-huh. Gonna take a little while to get going today -- yeah, there." Somehow managing to hold back a groan, Xander shoved back against Spike's cock, biting his lip as it slid so deep into him.

"Okay, Harris. Put 'the flu' on the phone for a minute."

"Yeuh-huh." He didn't know if Marcus heard him or not because Spike was already pulling the phone away. Then Xander didn't care as Spike's hand began working his cock even faster, thumb running over the head on each upstroke, fingernail sliding down the thick vein on the underside.

"Spike," Spike said by way of greeting, and his tone was still too damn steady for being balls deep inside Xander. "Yeah, he'll be there."

Xander pushed into Spike's hand, groaning when that grip tightened around him, sped up in its strokes, a swift counterpoint to the hard pounding in his ass.

"Right. Have him out the door in a half hour. Ta, mate." A beep and the phone was tossed to the other side of the bed.

"He gave you forty-five minutes before he gets there and calls you late."

"Nice of him," Xander muttered, far more concerned with Spike's hand on him, the delicious, burning friction inside of him.

"No time to waste then." And Spike's hand was on his hip again, gripping hard, pulling him back into a hard, nearly painful thrust.

"Fuck, yeah," Xander gasped out, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

He'd worry about how the hell he'd be able to look Marcus -- and probably the rest of the guys -- in the eye later without turning bright red, right now, there were so many better things to think about. Spike's hands on him, cock in him, the feel of Spike's thighs, tense as they slammed against the back of Xander's, and the loud groans and obscene half-words that spilled from Spike's lips with every shove inside Xander.

Xander reached out to brace himself against the headboard again as Spike moved faster, harder. So fucking good, and never quite enough.

And a half hour just wasn't enough either. Maybe no one would notice if he just didn't show up for work at all.

 

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm making ziltch progress on the last part of my Spander ficathon entry. I want to write "Xander hesitated at the doors to Spike's crypt," and instead end up with four paragraphs detailing the miserable weather while Xander hesitates, his formost reasoning for the hesitation, plus the underlying reasoning that he's having trouble coming to terms with and what it could mean for the way he sees Spike, not so much as a demon now but as a person. I figure, another two pages and there might actually be some dialogue.
> 
> It's frustrating, so I decided to blow off steam by finishing up an extraordinarily pointless PWP I started a week or so ago. And I do mean PWP. Don't look for plot or character development or even well rounded characters at all. Nothing but the sex, baby. It works for me as a tension release and maybe now I can get back to writing something that I'm supposed to be working on.
> 
> Not betaed and only looked over once, so yeah, probably mistakes to be found.
> 
> Feedback and constructive criticism always welcome.


End file.
